The Angels Sing of Reichenbach
by vertigoSWAY
Summary: Much to their disbelief, Amy and Rory discover the reality of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson when the Doctor takes them on a trip to England. When murders surface, Sherlock suspects the Doctor, who seems to know him better than Sherlock himself.
1. Prologue

**Prologue, post-The Great Game for _Sherlock_. Post-A Christmas Carol and pre-Series 6 premiere for _Doctor Who_.**

* * *

All Dr. John Watson could think was "thank God for Mycroft." Dozens of SAS soldiers stormed in as the red flashing lights disappeared from Sherlock and John's chests as some of the agents had already taken care of the snipers from afar.

Jim Moriarty looked incredibly displeased, although being the genius he was, he obviously knew that this was an outcome. He'd come unprepared too. He had lied. Changeable wasn't his only weakness. There was also overconfident. He made a quick dash for it and miraculously made it, even with all SAS chasing after him.

Sherlock Holmes threw one last glance back at his colleague and brother before sprinting off after them. "Sherlock!" John protested. Mycroft called his brother's name as well.

The former soldier chased after his flatmate, narrowly missing a rack of flotation aids as he rounded the corner out the door. "Sherlock!" John shouted again. He could see the formally dressed Sherlock disappearing into the night. The chase was futile but John went after Sherlock and Moriarty anyway. Soon, the doctor was quite aware that he was the only one around. The SAS had mysteriously faded into the dark night. "Sherlock!" he cried, voice hoarse. "Sherlock, get back here dammit!"

But they were gone. And John was alone.

Mycroft suddenly appeared beside him and tried to lead him away. Lestrade had arrived as well, Sgt. Donavon flanking his right side. John could only guess Anderson was around somewhere, waiting to rattle on about how Sherlock was a psychopath.

A full scale investigation was launched on the disappearance of Sherlock Holmes. John was subject to many interrogations and calls to the pool. He was also the one everyone went to for the latest gossip. Only Mrs. Hudson and Molly Hooper knew not to pry too much. Anderson seemed to enjoy pestering John until the former army doctor finally threatened to gun him down.

Then came the dream. Of course, it was only a dream but nevertheless it felt real. John watched as Sherlock, dressed in the same attire as the night of the pool incident with Moriarty, confronted what evidently was truly his "archenemy." Sherlock's clothes looked shabby and a few cuts graced his usually, perfectly groomed face. The corners of his lips twisted into a crooked frown. Then, John finally took Moriarty's appearance into notice. Although he seemed in a slightly better condition than Sherlock, there were still signs that there had been a struggle between the two.

They were at Reichenbach Falls and they were both standing dangerously close to the ledge. All of a sudden, John's view of the dream started to slip away and John bolted up right, breaking into cold sweat. Outside, the first touch of sunrise had started to ease itself into the horizon.

Fumbling in the dark, John tried to reach his charging mobile. Just as he was about to dial a number, a call came in, right from the person he needed to talk too.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade, you need to check Reichenbach," John blurted into the phone.

"How'd you-" The DI stopped himself. "He's been rubbing off on you no doubt. I'm here now," he said, "Got a little tip off from a strange man."

John's heart clenched in fear. What if it had been Jim Moriarty himself? "Who was it?"

"Don't know," Lestrade answered. "Didn't get a name, but it wasn't Moriarty. Not from the profiles we've seen and from what we've gathered, he wouldn't show his face like that."

John let his shoulders slump just the slightest. "What about Sherlock?"

"There's no one here John. No body, just footprints and your gun."

* * *

**Follow me on Twitter: _morning_eve_ for updates/teasers.**

**Now you're all wondering about John's rather cliched (PeterPetrelli-like) dream.  
/wink/ All will explained.**


	2. The Game is On!

**Chapter 1! :] Rubbish beginnings, but I promise the ultimate ending!**

**And an edit to the prologue chapter, yes I know Reichenbach Falls isn't actually in England. It's in Switzerland. Therefore, it's rather stupid and illogical for Lestrade to have been there in the first place. Then again, I haven't actually read a single Sherlock Holmes story so I'm not concerned in that aspect. For all intensive purposes, let's just assume there's a Reichenbach Falls in England. Works better with my ending.

* * *

**

Amy shivered.

That would be perfectly normal of course, if they hadn't just come back from the ever-so-warm and overdue trip to Rio –a trip that had been _so _trouble free that the Doctor had complained, more than once, that there was something wrong with the universe. "TARDIS lost its heating or something?" she now asked, snuggling herself in Rory's arms. The Doctor looked up at her from his engine repairs.

"Sorry," he mumbled, reconnecting some wires and pulling himself from under the TARDIS's main level. "Repairs," he said. "So how about a little mystery?" he asked, face lighting up.

"Don't we get that every trip?" Rory asked. "Well, I mean except this time, trouble seems to find you where- _when_ever you are."

"Oh but that's boring!" the Doctor pouted, already setting the controls for the destination he had in mind. "This, this is real!" he shouted as the TARDIS rocked back in forth inside the time vortex. "That and the psychic paper had a message," he whispered to himself.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes strolled along the streets of London to a wedding chapel, John Watson trailing behind him. "What's so special about this case?" the doctor muttered under his breath. Horse carriages accompanied them down the street.

"A murder _and_ a suicide," Sherlock gleamed.

"Suicide?"

"Well, of course," Sherlock said, half-rolling his eyes and wondering how something so obvious could be so unapparent. He clapped his hands together in glee while John muttered an unpleasant "right," as they entered the chapel. Sherlock laughed at the cake that still remained in the room and scanned the area before being lead into the hallway where an immaculately dressed man lay in a rather uncomfortable position. Of course, he was dead so there wasn't much to complain about.

Sherlock crouched down next to man, taking a whiff of a strange aroma and immediately grimacing. He hated the smell of tulips. Producing a small magnifying glass from his coat pocket, he began to inspect every scratch and blemish of the man's visible skin. The detective fumbled with the jacket and pant pockets. Nothing at all.

As he straightened himself and smoothed out his clothes, he eyed Inspector Lestrade standing expectantly in the corner. "Someone tampered with the scene," Sherlock accused to the Yard employee. The dark haired man spun around, looking for what had been moved. "Took it off the scene."

"What?" Lestrade asked, leaning against the wall.

"I said someone tampered with the evidence. Faint smell of tulips."

"Sherlock this is a _wedding_ chapel. Of course you'll smell flowers!"

"Those were roses," Sherlock replied, completely serious. John tried to suppress a snort but his flat mate caught on gave him a quick look. "Slightly different aroma, wouldn't have expected you to catch on." Lestrade gave a roll of his eyes. "Judging by his facial features, I'd say early 30s. Hands are rough so he probably works with handicrafts, an arts man evident by the attire he chose. And…" Sherlock trailed off, inviting John into the spotlight. "Cause of death…"

The former army doctor knelt down next to the body, examining head to toe. "Asphyxiation…" the doctor mumbled as he took another good look at the man. No sign of struggle, no bruising. So he wasn't strangled or suffocated." John caught Sherlock's look of approval. "No alcohol. The only way the asphyxiation could have happened was if he breathed in something poisonous that shut down his respiratory system."

"Excellent John," Sherlock complimented, although the doctor could not be absolutely sure if he meant it. "You're catching on." Turning to Lestrade, he continued, "Your murderer tampered with the evidence. Flowers, where are the flowers?"

"Sherlock, there weren't in any tulips," Lestrade insisted.

"The suicide," Sherlock ordered. "Show me."

Sighing, the inspector led the two men into another suite with two small windows and a couch. A woman was lying on the ivory white of the elongated chair, arms straight by her side. Any passing bystander would have thought she was merely sleeping; the still chest was the only thing that gave the truth away.

With one look, Sherlock uttered, "Too easy."

"Excuse me?" Lestrade said.

"She's a nurse. Night shift by the looks of it –you can see the fatigue. Naturally knowledgeable about poisons, toxins, medicines. The cut of the dress, the style, the way _she_ wears it, it's provocative. She's trying to get to someone. Dry tear tracks from crying, probably out of guilt. She killed the wrong person. Wrong death, plan gone wrong so she takes her life instead. Take a blood sample, find those tulips. It's her."

With that, Sherlock gestured from John to follow. As they exited the chapel, they didn't notice the strange sound coming from the alley that they would turn onto.

* * *

The TARDIS landed rather abruptly, making its dematerialization noise. Amy mumbled something about a bumpy ride and brakes. The Time Lord snapped back, saying that he'd piloted the same TARDIS for 800 years –at least. No one had ever told him about the brakes. "Besides, it's _cool_. Like the bowtie."

Amy groaned. "So where are we?"

"England!" the Doctor declared.

"That's a bit… underdramatic," Rory said.

"It's your country! Have a little pride." The Doctor leaned in to see the screen. "We'll just have to avoid Victoria."

"Victoria?"

"_Queen_ Victoria?" Amy emphasized.

"Oh never mind that!" the Doctor shouted, waving his arms wildly in the air. "You're never going to believe _this_!"Pushing open the double doors, the Doctor took one step out of his TARDIS, wearing a beaming smile that could destroy the cold of the old London town. He spread his arms wide as if he was displaying one of Vincent's paintings. "Mr. and Mrs. Pond… I present you Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson!"

Amy's mouth dropped open. Rory squeezed her hand in an effort for her to recover from her shock. Truth was, he was just as surprised as her. "You mean they're real?" she exclaimed.

The Doctor turned around, dropping hands and giving the ginger companion a look of incredulity. "How do you mean they're real? _Of course_ they're real!"

Amy wrenched her hand from her husband's and looked ready to pounce on the Doctor. "Well excuse me Time Lord man," Amy snapped. "Last week you told us that Agatha Christie was in her own murder novel."

"Didn't say _in_," the Doctor retorted. "I said that it was a Vespiform that imitated her novels and tried to kill her." Amy rolled her eyes at the lost argument.

John eyed the trio suspiciously. "Excuse me… Are we interrupting?" John asked uneasily.

"C'mon John," urged Sherlock, eyeing the three time travelers warily. "We're on a deadline." The consulting detective eased his colleague away and down the damp street.

"It was the flowers," the Doctor called to the pair of retreating forms. "No use in going on with the investigating. You won't find your murderer. She's dead." Sherlock stopped and spun stiffly on his heel while the Doctor approached them. Amy wrapped her coat tighter around her slim frame. Rory followed her out of the blue box, closing the doors behind them. "Odorless poison," the Doctor was explaining. "Maid of Honor fancies the groom but she's the bride's best friend. Loyalty and kindness, lets her friend have him, regardless of what will happen. She thought she was ready for it, but she wasn't. The happy couple announces that they're engaged, friend loses it. Starts to act rash. Rash makes people unbelievably stupid." The Doctor smiled. "Maid of Honor works as a nurse doesn't she? Knows all about medicines. She pinches a bit of poison and lets it sit with the water in the vase of flowers. Flowers absorb up the poison. Flowers get to the wrong person though. Groom picks them up, intending to give them to his wife-to-be. He sniffs them for too long, spills the poisoned vase water all over his small cut. He's dead. Of course, so's the Maid of Honor. Suicide, grief. Only living person left was the bride. Who better to take in for questioning?"

John looked impressed and stole a quick glance at his friend which told him that Sherlock was not the least bit amused. "I don't know what you're talking about," the dark-haired man said.

"Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor grinned. "Aw, this is perfect!"

"What is; what's perfect?" John inquired.

"John, be quiet," Sherlock snapped through gritted teeth.

The Doctor grinned again, beginning a rapid spiel of information. "Sherlock Holmes, you've got a brother named Mycroft. Don't exactly approve of him. Why? Because he bested you once and know you're living the rest of your life trying to prove you're better than him. So you live for the climatic moments in your life, the ones that tell you you're truly alive. Because the more adrenaline that pumps through your veins, the better. And if you live this one out, then you've got a better tale to tell than your brother.

"And Dr. John Watson. Former army doctor. Psychosomatic leg –not there anymore. Obviously since it's just psychosomatic. You've got a girlfriend. A brother… no sister. Just walked out on his wife. Stationed in Afghanistan, Second Persian War. War hero, yet you're rooming with him. You've got family haven't you? Could have asked anyone else for help. No no. You wind up with him," the Doctor nodded to Sherlock. "Of all people. Sherlock Holmes. Running off, fighting again. Wars, guns, fists and kicks. Have I impressed you yet? Probably not, seeing as the two of you can probably find a dozen loopholes and ends that don't meet, a ton of false words in my explanation." The Doctor stopped, taking a short breath before composing himself and stepping back to see the two men's reactions.

"I think you overdid it," Rory murmured.

"Why are we even here?" Amy shivered.

"I don't have a brother," Sherlock replied with a small twitch of a smile that graced his lips.

"I don't have a sister either," John added.

"Of course you do," the Doctor disagreed. "I've met them."

"And Afghanistan…?" John inquired.

The Time Lord approached them slowly. "Can you answer me a question then?" he asked. "How did the two of you meet?"

"Well uh," the army doctor started. "It was…" He scratched his head. Sherlock didn't answer and looked as if he was about to kill this mysterious man in front of him.

* * *

**Follow me on twitter! **_**morning_eve**_


	3. We Were Only Dreamers

_Tossing, turning. Crinkled bed covers and the whimpers of a nightmare._

_ "Mummy!" a little boy cried._

_ "She's busy," another boy answered from the couch. He was much older than the raven-haired child that had just ambled through the front door. "Can't you tell?"_

_ "Yes," came the indignant reply. "But so are you and yet you're talking to me."_

_ "I wouldn't go find her if I were you," warned the older boy._

_ "Shut up," came the indignant response. "You just think she likes you best."_

_ The older boy regarded his attention back to the book in his hands and let this little brother scramble to the kitchen where their mother was preparing dinner. The smell of Italiano wafted into the living room._

_ "Mummy!" the younger brother cried, holding up one sheet of paper._

_ "That's nice dear," the women said, wiping her hands on her apron and crossing over to one of the cabinets to pull out an assortment of spices. She didn't even look down once. The younger brother sulked away after a few minutes, realizing he was being ignored. As he passed the couch, his older brother said, "I told you so."

* * *

_

In a situation where a stranger turned

"You've had your memories wiped," the Doctor explained.

"Excuse me," John interrupted. "How do you know who we are?"

"Oh, just popped for a visit once. Accident actually."

"When was that? How come we don't remember?" Amy asked.

"Honeymoon."

"What were you in London for?"

"Looking at fezzes" the Doctor replied with perfect seriousness. Amy groaned.

"You popped in…" John repeated.

"Running around, fell into Baker's Street, met the two of you and off I went."

"If we didn't tell you anything, how did you know about us? Asked around a bit?"

"John shut up, I'm trying to think," Sherlock told him and then nodded at the police box. "I could have you arrested."

"Oh, but where's the fun in that?" the Doctor asked. "Hm, Sherlock? Besides, I've only just come out of it. No use putting me back in there?"

"Obviously you've built or done something to it. In that case, I can have you arrested either for impersonating a police officer or vandalizing government owned property."

"Alright. I borrowed it, but I _was _going to give it back! Tell me Sherlock. Do you believe in other worlds?"

"Yes, parallel worlds are often-"

"Life on other planets? Aliens?"

"He doesn't even know that the Earth revolves around the Sun," John muttered.

"I said I've deleted it John!" Sherlock rolled his eyes, exasperated. Amy stifled a giggle. "You try speaking fluent Latin and Greek, as well as every major dialect in the world."

"Don't have to…" Amy sang softly and happily.

The Doctor, already exasperated with Sherlock's lack of cooperation turned to John. "What's the earliest memory you have?"

"Well I-uh… If we can't even remember how-"

"The earliest memory that comes to mind. Was is it?" the Doctor pressed.

"We went into the town with my parents."

"Who's we?" the Doctor pressed even further, a glint shimmering in his eyes.

"Well my…" John seemed to realize what he was saying. "My sister…"

"You don't have a sister," Sherlock scoffed.

"I think," the Time Lord began, "It'd all be better if we found a place to sit?"

* * *

_The woman sighed. "Mycroft, why can't you control him?" The early-teenage boy just pressed his lips together in protest.

* * *

_

"Why couldn't we stay in the TARDIS?" Amy asked, sipping on what was apparently tea. It was warm, exactly what she needed to keep her toes from freezing over.

"This is colder than that cold star," Rory muttered unappreciatively. Around him, customers bustled about, shouting, drinking. Causing a great commotion. The bartenders were rather busy themselves, attending to so many people. No one gave any notice to the four humans and one alien tucked away in a back corner.

The Doctor pulled out a silver fob watch from his pocket and tossed it to Sherlock. "Go on," he challenged. "Let's see how much you get right."

"Doctor," Rory started. "What are you do-"

"Shhh!" the Doctor hissed, watching Sherlock intently and barely catching a glimpse of John Watson's confused face. The detective, however, was completely absorbed by the fob watch in front of him. He turned it over in his hands a few times, weighing it in his right. Then he studied the markings on the front of the watch, clicking it open and noting that the time was wrong and that the symbols replacing the usual numbers were nothing he'd seen before.

"It's fairly new," Sherlock began, "and it looks like it's worth a lot, wherever you got it from. Means there was some kind of struggle in successfully securing it evident by a few scratches. Then again, it could be older. The metal's nothing I've seen before. Smells like floral although I doubt you put it next to a vase of flowers. Don't look like much of a nature person judging the attire." Sherlock set the watch down and scrutinized the Doctor. "The three of you are obviously not local folk, accents or not. And you, whoever you are, are not who you seem to be. Tweed jacket, suspenders, grainy button up shirt –plus the bowtie. Now one dresses like you here. Not unless they're looking for public humiliation. Lack of decent wrinkles and spots on your face suggests early 30s if not late 20s, but that's not your age. It's the eyes. They make you look older. Suggests adventure, trauma, some kind of depression that you went through. Now tell me," Sherlock leaned in, joining his hands together and resting them on the table. It felt to good to show how superior he was (should be) to the strange man in front of him. "Have I impressed you yet?"

The Doctor grinned –that was staring to get commonplace- and replied, "Yes." Then he leaned back in his chair casually. "Still, I'm rather impressed easily. I always chose the interesting people to go to."

"Just who _are _you?" John asked, finally bursting with the fact that the conversation had been going in circles. All Sherlock and this odd, bowtie-wearing man had been doing were ratting off the various amount of knowledge they had –in Sherlock's case at least. The other man sounded absolutely buggered.

"My name's the Doctor," the Time Lord replied with a small flick of his hand.

John turned his gaze expectantly at the couple. "Amy Williams," the red-head drawled in her long Scottish tones.

"Rory Williams," her (obvious) husband added.

"You said Pond though," John pointed out. "Back in the street. 'Mr. and Mrs. Pond.'"

"Dully noted," Sherlock muttered. "Obviously it's some sort of inside joke. Pond, probably Mrs. William's maiden name: Amy Pond-Williams. Of course, that tells us a lot more."

"Yes," John agreed without question. Then he turned to look at his friend. "It does?"

"Provided for the tan that our married couple have here, they've been somewhere warm, somewhere with some sun. Obviously not here in London –it's cold enough to still not feel your toes in a tropical rainforest. So you're travelers. But you've seen something, been through something just a tad bit traumatic together. Which goes back to the point that you aren't from around here. So why are you turning up now? And why have you come to us?"

* * *

**Horrible ending, but that's what you get when one's been gone for half a week and is rather sleep-deprived.**


End file.
